


Just One More Night (Alone With You)

by gxnseys



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Normal World AU, Plot What Plot, Rain angst, Sexy Times, idk guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 20:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gxnseys/pseuds/gxnseys
Summary: "Please" he begged. His hair was soaked. His clothes were soaked. "Just one more night. One more night alone with you."





	Just One More Night (Alone With You)

Friday night with the boys gets old after it's your 7th Friday with them in a row, you're stranded in a sea of strangers, and your only life raft is the drink in your hand.

Bellamy was beginning to learn that.

He had just introduced himself to the girl that was in the corner, and she could tell how drunk he was. She'd asked him if he’d needed a glass of water. Like he hadn’t done this before, over and over again. Of course he needed water. That didn't mean he was going to get it.

"You're really pretty" he said, sloshing his rum and coke onto his sleeve a little. _It's okay_ , he thought. _I know how to get the stain out._

"Thanks" she said. She had a nice body, but her face let him down somehow. She was sipping her own drink sparingly, as if trying to remind him it was more of a work function than a club. _It's not okay to be sloppy here._ But he knew that already.

"My name's Bellamy" he said, getting close next to her. She was as tall as he was. He leant his hand behind her on a table, brushing his shoulder against hers. He felt that her skin was cold through his sleeve, and he smiled up at her.

"I'm Caitlin" she said. She moved away from him then, and he watched her walk towards another group of people, looking concernedly over her shoulder at him once as she merged into their conversation with ease.

Bellamy brought up his mental calendar. He was at just over a month. A month and 4 days.

Somehow it seemed harder on the days that weren’t clear anniversaries. It hurt so much more on the _'3 weeks and 2 days since_ ' than the ' _1 month since_ ' because he felt like he had no right to grieve it. No clear reason to miss her.

He looked around for his friends. For his 'boys’. The _killer support system_ he’d had over this rough time. It was hard to take their advice sometimes, because none of them had ever been in love like he had.

They weren’t anywhere, but it was hard for Bellamy to see in the dimly lit function room, and he tried his best to call off his urge to stand on a sofa to see over the heads of the crowd to find them.

Instead he made his way to the window, where there were less people, and pressed his face to the glass. Half of the room was made of floor to ceiling window, and they must have been on somewhere above the 30th storey. The city was sprawled out below him, lit up in lights like another sky under the real one. Artificial stars twinkled up at him, and he sighed back at them. A few raindrops hit against the window, their faint tapping lost in the chatter of the people behind him.

Bellamy was at some kind of launch, or an official event of sorts. There were posters for a product and a brand around the room, a few D grade celebrities milling around, wearing the product and chatting with the guests. But he was a plus one, he wasn’t worth talking to. A drunk plus one, someone who was there to fill in the empty space between the people who were actually invited and to keep the bar running.

It was in the moments when he was not talking that the void of her began to kill him. He’d begun to miss the things he’d never really thought much of when they were together. Tiny messages he’d get from her on his lunch break, because she’d known when it was. How her hands felt on his shoulder blades when she would cuddle him close and keep him protected with her body. Drawings scribbled on the back of important letters, her style speaking louder about herself than almost anything. The dirty things she’d liked to text him at parties, when they were both tipsy and horny, anxious to get home and undress eachother.

" _Agh_ " he groaned, holding his forehead with one hand. He wasn’t supposed to think about her in a good light. That was what his friends kept saying. She broke up with him, she was the evil one. She was the bitch who hurt him, who he didn't need in the first place. He could live without her, and he was _way_ more fun when he was single anyway. He cut loose. He got drunk at formal gatherings. He spilt his drinks on himself. He slept with strangers to feel dregs of intimacy.

"You look miserable" a guy standing opposite him said.

"Oh. Thanks" Bellamy said back.

"Fuck," the man said. "I gotta call my Uber. It's starting to rain. Fuck that, _amiright?_ "

He looked out the window and up at the sky as rain began to start coming in heavier, smudging the lights from Bellamy’s view and blurring them into one big neon rainbow. He nodded at the guy, downing the last of his drink and wincing as the ice slid down his throat.

"I don't mind" Bellamy said. "I don't mind the rain."

"Fuck. You are _wasted_ , man. I can tell"

The guy didn’t know Bellamy, but he laughed anyway. He didn’t feel like getting in a fight, and at least someone was speaking to him, keeping him company for a few minutes. He couldn’t be left alone, at the moment, apparently. He’d had a different friend on his couch every week, making sure he didn’t try to throw himself off his balcony or something. Who knew what they thought he’d do. But he’d heard them talking, when they thought he wasn’t listening. Monty was especially worried he’d start becoming self-destructive. _Too late_.

Some friends they were, though, leaving Bellamy alone with this douche. They hadn’t even tried to find him. They’d just dumped him somewhere they thought they wouldn’t have to take care of him and split.

"Nah man I'm doin' fiiine" Bellamy assured him. "Just missing a girl."

"You're pissed. I can totally tell. I can always tell with this stuff!" The guy laughed, holding his own drink in a way that made Bellamy think he was a bit drunk as well. He was a skinny guy, with hair that fell in front of his eyes and a beakish nose. "And missing a girl? Text book drunk. Fuck. What did she do? What did _you_ do? Cheating? Drugs? _Cheating?"_

"None of those things" Bellamy said. "She found somebody else. Some fuckin' - some _moron_ named _Lexa_." Bellamy spoke around a hiccup, his voice raised by several pitches.

He look around to see if any of his friends were near to stop him, before he plunged deeper into his feelings than should be legally possible. The hurt gushed into his system, and like always when he was smashed, he tried with vigour to reveal his most personal problems to a stranger.

"She fuckin' tells me that she's found someone else. That I'm always tired, and I don't seem happy around her anymore. She doesn't wanna keep making me so sad. What the fuck... is that?"

"Chicks think they know how everyone's feeling, man. They think they know what's right for everybody" the guy said.

"And all I can think - while she's saying this to me - is how fucking good she looks naked. It was crazy. I was thinking, damn, I'm gonna miss seeing her naked." The last bit was something Bellamy hadn't said to anyone yet. But it was true. He fucking loved her naked. He never wanted her in lingerie or anything, never. When she was naked something else took over in her and she wasn't afraid to grab him and pull him like she wanted to. He loved her so much like that.

"...yeah" the guy said. "Sure."

Bellamy could tell what he’d said had made the guy feel uncomfortable. But he had opened the conversation with an insult to him, so _whaTEVeR_. Bellamy looked around for another waiter with a tray of drinks.

"You're a handsome guy though. Built. You'll find somebody else. Some chick who's better to see naked."

Bellamy nodded. "I've already found other people." Is all he said.

He pulled a champagne glass off a tray going by, and tried as hard as he could to melt into the floor. Each sip was tasteless, and his warm cheek was welcomed against the cold window pane. For the first time in a month and 4 days, he wished to be alone, to just be with his thoughts and be drunk and grieve in peace.

"My Ubers here" the guy said, and Bellamy thought that something was finally going his way. The guy began to walk away, before turning to Bellamy and looking pensive for a moment. He touched a hand to his chin, and then extended it out in his direction.

"If it's any conciliation," he said. "I think you should tell her. Tell her what a bitch she is. It feels really good. Next time you can see her meet up with her and tell her you've moved on."

"Thanks, man" Bellamy said. A small piece of him sort of wanted to defend her to this stranger. ' _She's not a bitch - I'm sure she had her reasons - if you knew her you'd know this is totally out of character - hey man, I still love her_ ' but he didn’t say anything. He let him leave, and he watched him go.

Bellamy opened his phone and looked at her contact information, thinking of the spiteful way he deleted the love heart that had been in it a few weeks after the breakup. He stared at her name, reading it backwards and with her last name and with his last name and with what their names would have sounded like together. He felt like he was going to cry, even though he prided himself on not having cried in a week.

With an angry noise, he switched his phone off and banged the side of his fist against the glass.

 _I should see her_ , he thought recklessly. _I should tell her how much she's hurt me, and see the guilt on her face as she looks at what a fucking mess I am, and then she'll know I'm still in pain, that I'm still dying from it._

He looked out at the city and at the rain that pummelled down from the sky and said "fuck it" out loud. Reaching for his phone, he ordered a cab and stumbled out of the venue hall towards the elevator. The lobby of the building was deserted, and he slipped slightly on the tiled floor as he made his way to the door. He saw his cab pull up to the curb just as the rain hit him and he ran out into the downpour, instantly soaked to his underwear.

"Where are we going?" The driver asked, taking in his drunk, wet, state and giving him a disapproving look.

"We're going to uh...fuckin'...we're going past downtown, east." Bellamy began. Her address pops into his head, but he can't say it yet. He decides he’ll give the driver a direct address when they’re closer. For now he was going to keep it to myself like a secret, a last small piece of her to himself before he said goodbye.

* * *

 

Clarke’s doorbell rung at 1:43 am. She was still up - home, alone, on a Friday night, watching movies by herself. What an exciting way to start the weekend.

Possibilities flashed in her head of who could be outside. The police? A neighbour? _Her mother?_

Hopefully she wasn't making too much noise, the volume on her laptop couldn’t have been _that_ high. She looked around for something to wear, not wanting to answer the door in her pyjama shorts but settling for that option as the knocking became more insistent.

She hurried her pace as the person on the other side started slamming their fist against the door, pressing the bell at the same time impatiently, the sound mingling with thundering rain outside. She quickly threw on an old shirt and ran towards the door.

"Stop it!" She said loudly. "Okay, okay! I'm opening it! It's opening."

Clarke opened the door, and her heart leaped into her throat. She took a step backwards, closing her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" She whispered. Her voice was almost lost in the downpour, but she knew he heard her.

"I-" Bellamy began. His voice choked. He surged forward, pushing against her, wetting her shirtfront.

"Oh... God" he breathed. His arms came up and squeezed her. She could smell strong alcohol on his breath. Feeling his hard body pressed to her was so familiar and so foreign at the same time that she could hardly breathe. He was so much bigger than she was, yet he sunk into her arms, boneless.

" _Clarke_ " he said, pained. His hand went to the back of her head to stroke her hair, his cold face pressed into her neck.

Clarke stood stock still, frozen in place. Bellamy was there, in her house, drunk and soaking, and somehow it was all she’d ever wanted. Feeling him with her was like she could suddenly breathe clearly again. All rational thought flew out the window and she wrapped her arms around him too, holding him so tight it hurt.

"I can't do this" he sobbed, his back shaking. "I can't do this. I don't know how to. I miss you. I miss you so much."

"Bellamy" Clarke said. "We can't... you should go." It pained her to say it - she didn’t want to say it. But it was the truth. It only hurt the both of them. “It's better if we don't see each other. So I can get over you...and so you can get over me."

Bellamy pushed himself out of her arms, anger flaring in his expression. He stretched to his full height, and _god_ , Clarke thought, _he looks good_. Better than when she last saw him.

"Why the fuck would you say that?" He demanded. Clarke hurried to shut the door, hoping her neighbours didn't hear him.

"It's the truth-"

"Why would you say that? I don't want to hear that" he said. His hair was pushed away from his face and his cheeks were pink, eyelashes wet and stuck together with raindrops.

"I can't always tell you what you want to hear, Bellamy" Clarke said. She ached to reach out to him and soothe his pain. But it was for the better that she didn’t. He was angry she broke up with him, scorned and embarrassed, but he didn’t truly miss her. She always thought that he didn't really love her, and this preemptive strike of a breakup was what was better for both of them.

"Can't you just once?" He asked. "I don't wanna get over you. I don't want _you_ to get over _me_."

"We can't see each other anymore." Clarke said. She stepped aside slightly and showed him the door, ushering him to leave.

Suddenly he moved forward, pressing her against the door with his body, his forearms flat on either side of her head. He looked down at her with agonised dark eyes, his breathing heavy as his chest pushed on hers. Up this close she could see every freckle.

"Please" he begged. His hair was soaked. His clothes were soaked. "Just one more night. One more night alone with you."

Bellamy’s voice was so low it was almost inaudible. His face was so close to Clarke’s that she could feel his breath and taste the alcohol on it. In the dark her senses were heightened, and she could feel his stomach pressed to hers, could hear his laboured breaths as he fought against himself. All she wanted to do was kiss him. To touch his bare skin.

"I want you so much" Bellamy sighed. "I need you"

He put a hand on her waist and leaned in to kiss her cheek. Clarke placed a hand on his arm to steady him, to make sure he kept his distance, but was distracted with the corded muscle of his bicep, hard and firm. He placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek, and then another closer to her jaw, before trailing his lips down to her neck, below her ear, his tongue peaking out to brush against her skin.

Instantly, like always, his actions took effect on her body. A shock went through her stomach and pooled between her legs, and she pressed the bare skin together, nothing to cover them but her shorts.

Bellamy let out a sound in the crook of her neck, something halfway between a groan and a murmur, his hand gripping her waist tighter, almost enough to hurt.

"You're so sexy, baby" he said, letting his fingers slide under her shirt to touch the skin at my stomach.

"Bellamy.." she warned, her voice coming out breathy and strange to her own ears.

"So hot" he murmured.

Bellamy’s other hand took her forearm, prying it away from my side to place it on his chest. His black button down shirt was stuck to him like a second skin, and Clarke could see and feel every hard plane and smooth line of his body.

"You must be cold" she whispered. But he shook his head. A droplet fell from his shirt and onto her feet, the small shock enough to give her one moment of clarity. She ducked down from under his arms, her breathing ragged, moving to stand behind him.

"I'm going to get you a dry shirt, and then you have to leave" she said. She was finally speaking rationally. Every moment he was there was another hour it hurt to not have him in the future.

Bellamy turned slowly, facing her from a metre away, and she got a good look at him. His hair had grown out, slicked back from his face with rainwater. He looked like he'd filled out even more; shoulders, arms and chest straining against his shirt, his legs bent as he leant against the door. His face looked dead as he watched her with blank eyes, the only indication of his heart pumping the flush that spread from his jaw to high on his cheekbone.

"Okay" he allowed, tilting his head forward but never taking his eyes off her.

Clarke was quick to retreat down the dark hallway towards her bedroom, unsettled by his black eyes, and of how much pain they spoke.

Bellamy was meant to be alright. The break up wasn't meant to hurt him. It was to stop _him_ from hurting _her_. Was he actually in pain? Did he really miss her?

Clarke pushed open her wardrobe and felt around in the back for the shirt of his she hadn’t had the heart to throw away, her fingers catching on the worn-out fabric and yanking it forward. She clutched it in her hands, unsure of how to handle what was coming next. She’d walk out there and see him like he was, and she’d give him his shirt and he’d change and then leave.

And it was going to break her.

She peaked her head out of her doorway, glancing down the hallway into the lounge room. Bellamy stood by the low yellow light of the lamp - the only illumination in the house besides the bedroom light. She watched him gingerly unbutton his shirt, long fingers fumbling with each one and his body dripping on the floorboards. With his chin pressed to his chest, he finally was free of the clasps, the shirt hanging off his shoulders and exposing his chest and stomach as he made work of the cuffs, struggling with his left hand. Clarke’s eyes followed the natural line his body made, down from the u of his collarbone to the cleft of his chest, the muscles there round and pert, looking just like they did when she used to rest her head on them. The lines of his stomach were defined by shadow, and the dip of his hips was hidden under the waist of his waistband.

Clarke watched him stumble, and suddenly was jolted out of her reverie. She rushed forward, catching him before he could knock himself out on her bookshelf. He smiled at her sheepishly, his eyes crinkling in the corners like they always did, a shy tilt to his head.

"Sorry I had a couple... I had one or two drinks before I came here" he confessed. "Thanks. For the shirt."

"It's no problem... it's yours anyway" Clarke said, laying it down on the back of the couch and finally looking him in the eyes. He was still smiling at her, but now it was like a cat with a mouse in the corner, trapped, finally caught.

"You look good" he said, slipping the button-down off his shoulders, letting it fall behind him in a soaking pile on the floor. "Is it for Lexa?"

 _Oh god_ , Clarke thinks, _Lexa_.

She thought of the last time she spoke to her, two days ago. She’d stormed out of her apartment saying that she couldn't deal with Clarke’s past anymore, and that she didn't want to come in second to the memory of a boyfriend. She’d let her leave, but cried after. Lexa was meant to be something solid, and even she was ruined by Clarke’s love for Bellamy. She couldn’t believe Bellamy was bringing her up now.

"No" Clarke answered, talking around the lump in her throat. "I don’t care about looking good for other people. You know that."

"I know. I remember" Bellamy said, his voice slightly slurred. "I can't forget much about you, you know."

Clarke bit her lip and kept her eyes off him, holding her elbows and sitting on the back of the sofa. Bellamy was starting to get warm again now, and his bare skin radiated heat she could feel on her own legs as he leaned against the wall and made no effort to redress himself.

"The shit I can remember. Jesus" he said.

Clarke flushed, suddenly. A million moments flashed through her head of them together, of all the things they ever did. But she knew he wasn’t talking about the movie dates or the cuddles. He was remembering something much different.

Her thoughts made her duck her head into her shoulder, feeling shy and exposed even in clothes because she knew he was seeing her naked right now, reliving the most intimate moments they ever shared in his head. She stole a glance in his direction to see him looking straight at her.

"You were wearing that shirt the night we fucked for the first time" he said, bluntly.

A startled breath escapes her mouth. "You remember that?"

He laughed, trailing a hand up to the muscle that connected his neck and shoulder, cupping his hand over it absently. "Like I said, it's hard to forget much about you. Plus, that night left a lot of memories. Mental and physical."

Clarke’s face grew even hotter as she realised he had his hand over the scar she gave him, where her nails dug too deep into his skin. An echo of the feelings she had had in that moment went through her body and made her mind heavy and her thighs press together.

"You got so embarrassed afterwards, when you saw the scab. You patched me up and everything" he said, pushing off the wall and coming towards her slowly. He stood between her legs and took her hand in two of his, not meeting her eyes. "But I remember what you said when you made it. You said 'good'. You said you wanted to leave a mark on me. Well you did. _You did._ "

Bellamy placed her hand on his chest, above his heart, and looked Clarke in the eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked. She wanted to cry. But she was not going to let him do that to her. She’d kept that memory locked up in her mind, and she hadn’t let herself think about it. She wasn’t going to start now. Clarke felt suddenly angry, and stood roughly, forcing him away from her.

"No. I _know_ why you're doing this!" She yelled. "Because you're drunk and bored! If you came here to remind me of the past and sleep with me and then leave, you can forget about it!"

Bellamy’s nostrils flare, and again he rose to his full height, his chest expanding.

"You think I'm just here to fuck you?" He said incredulously, anger laced through his voice. "Don't think you're that special. I came here to tell you I'm doing _just_ _fine_!"

"Oh yeah? Cause showing up on my doorstep at one in the morning soaking wet is ' _just fine_ '!" Clarke countered.

Her hands were fisted at her sides, and Bellamy’s cheeks and chest were pink, fingers twitching as he got progressively madder. Clarke wanted to kill him. How dare he show up at her house.

"You think you can judge me, with your new girlfriend and your high and mighty attitude? I could make a lot of wet jokes right now too but I'm sure Lexa wouldn't get them" he sneered.

"Leave her out of this!"

"You're the one that brought her into it!"

"You know what I meant!" Clarke yelled. Her whole body felt hot with rage. She was practically shaking.

"No, no I want to talk about her" Bellamy said, taking on a mock air of causality, sitting on the back of the sofa. "How is she? Better?"

"You're vulgar" Clarke said, curling her lip at him.

"You used to love it that way" he said, cruelly. "Filthy. Dirty. Look at you know, I bet you don't even come anymore.

"Shut up" she said, her voice low.

"No, really. I bet you don't. I bet you don't even want to. Not without me. Because I'm the best there is for you. And you threw me out for some random chick" he said.

"Shut up!" Clarke roared, slapping him hard across the cheek. She immediately regretted it, knowing that if he slapped her it wouldn't be alright, and it wasn’t alright for her to hurt him either. But he laughed, holding her wrist in place inches from his face and flexing his jaw.

"Am I hitting a nerve?" He asked. "Good. I've been a fucking wreck the past month, sure, but at least I know now that you're not even getting fucked properly."

The anger Clarke felt returned instantly, and she went to yank her hand out of his grip, but he used the motion to pull her against him, their bodies completely pressed together. Her chest heaved against his ribs, and she glared up at him and his smug face, her emotions violently bubbling over.

"No one else's gonna do it like I do it" he said. He was so sure of himself, so completely certain.

Clarke did her best to shrug, her teeth clenched together. "I've had better."

His death grip on her wrist tightened. "You haven’t."

"I have" She said, speaking through her teeth. "Before you. After you. Much better. No faking needed either."

It was lies, but it was getting him angry, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

"You call this faking it?" He pointed to the scar on his shoulder.

"I needed to cut my nails" Clarke allowed, revelling in his rage.

"You're lying" he said, but she knew this was something he was insecure about. When they had first starting dating he'd always asked if it was real, if she wasn't doing it to make him happy. All of it had been real, but Clarke want to hurt him. She wanted him to feel bad for showing up at her house just to guilt trip her.

"I'm not lying. It's the truth. At least now you know"

"You're not that good an actress"

"How would you know?" She asked, raising an eyebrow as he threw her wrist out of his grip.

Clarke watched his back rise and fall as he turned away from her, staring at the wall, his breathing audibly laboured by emotion. She revelled in his pain, not caring if that made her bad in that moment. That was all he had come to do. To make her feel awful. He should have learned to take what he dished out.

"How would you know!?" Clarke repeated, her voice shaking despite herself. "How would you possibly know that you're the only one for me!?"

Bellamy turned quicker than Clarke thought possible and grabbed her jaw, kissing her. His fingers mingled with her hair and his lips caught on her bottom one, his body flush against hers.

Clarke couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, there was nothing in her mind for the first time in a month. Bellamy’s legs pressed to her legs, his nose brushing past hers as he tilted his head to the side and let himself slip his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like bourbon, the sweet, sharp taste reminding her of the time when they went on holiday and stayed in a beach shack with no phone signal in the middle of nowhere, getting drunk on the stuff, Bellamy doing shots of it out of her bellybutton for fun. They’d taken a swim in the warm water in the middle of the night, and Clarke could almost feel the breeze hitting her wet skin as she peeled off her bikini top, and she could still hear his voice at her ear, telling her ‘ _we're all alone, no one's going to see us._ ’

Clarke’s hand came up to the back of his neck, and she kissed him back, breathing in harshly. She got on her toes to reach his face better, her other hand wrapping around his back to hold his shoulder blade. Bellamy’s kiss deepened, still bleeding emotion, the hurt and the anger and the need all blending into one feeling, one that soaked into Clarke’s bones and her soul, gravitating her towards the man she lost.

Bellamy pushed a leg between hers, rubbing her with his thigh, a hand going to her hips and rolling the flesh there with his palm, his breath coming out hard and fast. Clarke inhaled sharply and arched her chest into him, his bare stomach brushing against the spot her t-shirt rode up and sparking her nerves.

Then he pulled away, and took a step back from her.

Clarke gaped at him, sure that her cheeks were red while her arms involuntarily stretched out after him, fingers extended as her body mourned the loss of his touch, aching for him to return, still dripping from water he left behind.

Bellamy’s eyes scan Clarke’s body, before he stopped at her face. His nostrils flared, hair mussed at the back from her fingers running through it. He was panting.

"That's how I know" he said, letting out a short, cynical laugh, shaking his head.

Clarke waited for him to move toward her once more, to kiss her again, but he didn’t, he just looked at her like she was crazy, like she’d finally proven his point. He wasn’t going to kiss her again, because he only did it to prove she was lying, not because he had wanted to. Just to remind her her body had never reacted like that to anyone else.

Clarke stormed towards him, getting close to his face and placing her hand on his stomach.

"And you're doing just fine without me too, huh?" Her voice was low, and Bellamy watched her eyes apprehensively, his expression guarded as she ghosted her fingers over his taut abdomen.

"You're getting ' _fucked properly_ '?" She asked. Her hand slid into his jeans, over top of his underwear, gripping around his dick and she heard him groan deep in his throat, pushing his hips into her touch.

"No" he said, forcing a smile on to his face. "I'm not."

"I didn't think so" Clarke said, stroking her hand lazily up and down.

"Hey..." Bellamy said, a smile playing on the edge of his lips. "Be careful. Someone might think you want this."

Clarke smiled at him dryly, knowing despite his cool demeanour he was losing it over her touch. She slipped her hand into his cold, soaked underwear, and ran her palm over the head of his length. He groaned, long and deep.

"Clarke" he said with his eyes shut, reaching for her in front of him. Quickly he pulled her hand out of his pants, flipping her around so she was pressed with her chest against the wall, his front to her back. She could feel his hard on pressed to her, and she panted, overpowered but not angry for it.

"You always loved teasing me" he said, his voice rough and his palm spread over her hand that was flat against the wall. She felt his breath on her neck, sucking in air sharply as he pushed his hand into her shorts, rubbing her through her underwear.

"You always loved it" Clarke bit, trying to keep her knees strong as Bellamy built up a tempo on her clit, desperate not to give into what he knew how to do so well.

He yanked his hand away and flipped Clarke again, this time grabbing her hips and pushing them into his.

"I didn't love it the time we were sharing a hotel room with all my friends" he said, his lips inches from Clarke’s and his hands moving her hips for her, sliding down to cup her ass and squeeze hard. He bit her neck and kissed behind her ear, pressing her hard against his hips. "Or when we were on the train full of people."

Thunder rumbled outside and the rain came in heavier, Clarke smirking at him, lifting her lip off her teeth a little. "Like you didn't tease me."

She had realised this whole thing was not about his control over her. It was hers over him. He would always have to come back, she was the best he could ever have. The only one for him.

Bellamy pulled Clarke’s shirt over her head, holding both her bra-covered breasts in his hands to press kisses to the tops of them, resting his face on her chest as he pushed up against her. He trailed the kisses past her collarbone to her shoulder and up her neck, letting his saliva wet her skin.

"You were too easy to tease." He said, pulling the straps of her bra down off her arms so it hung around her middle. He brought a hand up and squeezed a little too hard, pinching her nipple with his thumb and forefinger and moaning against her shoulder, letting his body go limp for a moment.

"You..you..." he panted, his legs tensing and untensing sporadically as he tried to contains himself. "You used to...fuck...you always got too-"

He didn’t finish his sentence as he dropped his mouth down to suck on her nipple, one hand cupped underneath it and the other spread flat on Clarke’s lower back, pushing her to him and igniting the nerves there. Clarke opened her mouth and let her head tilt back against the wall, her fingers twining into Bellamy’s curly wet hair and holding him place. He'd always known what she liked best, what really turned her on. She couldn’t tell if she wished he'd forgotten or not, but in the moment, she was glad he remembered. The sensation sent spikes of heat to her stomach, rolling off of her as he bit very softly on the small nub of her nipple, and then she couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped her mouth.

Bellamy rose back up and took her jaw in his hand, kissing Clarke like he couldn’t live without her. His tongue slipped into her mouth and his lips were full and swollen against hers, her breasts brushing against his bare chest as he pulled her closer by the small of her back.

"You always told me-" he said between kisses, tilting his head to the right to kiss her deeper. "-that you loved when I did stuff with your tits."

To emphasise his point he brought a hand up to clasp her boob, biting on her lower lip at the same time and then sucking to ease the sting.

"And I always told you-" she said. "That I had other parts of my body-" "-that needed attention."

"I was never a good listener" he said, pulling her sports bra down her legs and watching her kick it away, both hands holding her breasts as he grinned.

"Do you remember?" He asked her, his eyes closed as he bent down to kiss every inch of her shoulders and upper arms, his stomach brushing hers. "How much you used to scream? I wanna do that to you again."

"It was for show" Clarke lied.

She did remember. Of course she did. It was almost embarrassing sometimes, but she could recall the feeling with the utmost clarity of pleasure building between my legs so intense it felt like she was going to burst, so intense she couldn't imagine anyone else having ever felt like that before in their life. She’d had neighbours bang on the ceiling and broken furniture by the time Bellamy and her were done, but it had been worth it.

"You're such a liar" Bellamy said, his brown eyes sparking as Clarke presented him with an unspoken challenge; make me scream like that again.

Quickly, Clarke side stepped out of his grip on her and walked away, acutely aware of her bare skin and the way her hair touched her shoulders and of her body begging her to go back to him.

She went to sit down on her couch, unsure of what she was really doing. She wanted to see if he'd follow, she wanted to know if he’d come, before a pair of arms scooped her up and pulled her up into the air. Her legs automatically wrapped around Bellamy’s waist and her hands went to his arms and the straining muscle there, surprise locking up her limbs.

"I don't know where you think you're going" he said, before dropping her onto the couch. "But I'm not letting you get away."

He dropped down onto his knees in front of her, his use of surprise before still paralysing Clarke with shock. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts, down into her underwear, and pulled with determination. Clarke watched Bellamy ease what was left of her clothes down her legs, almost shy but not, because she could see the hunger in his eyes as he surveyed her bare skin. He chewed on his bottom lip as he pulled her clothes off her feet, before putting both palms on her knees and spreading them.

He sighed deeply, his eyes sliding shut as he reached behind him and pulled Clarke forward by her ass, kissing her inner thigh chastely. He rested his cheek on her leg and breathed in heavily.

"I don't know if I can do this" he said.

"You're not usually one to back down" Clarke said, really hoping he didn’t.

"I don't know if my ears can take it" he confessed, backtracking so quickly that by the time she realised what he meant he had his mouth on her, sucking on her clit.

Clarke gasped, openly, her stomach clenching and her eyes flying open as he pushed two fingers inside of her, curling them up to press repeatedly against the sensitive flesh there, the feeling that spiked from that making Clarke’s arms fly out to grip the fabric of the couch so hard her knuckles turned white. She moaned loudly, drowned out by thunder and a crack of lightening, losing it as Bellamy pushed her legs open wider, lapping with his tongue, his nose brushing against her over-sensitised clit.

She couldn’t handle how he made her feel. She couldn’t bear it, it was too much, too much pressure in one place, so over the top, so extravagant, she felt like her body was made of fireworks and her arms were shaking and her heart was beating faster all in time for-

"Oh, sorry" Bellamy said, falling backwards purposefully onto the floor, away from Clarke, his face wet.

Clarke glared at him with all the might she could muster, her bones like jell-o, Bellamy’s grin in the low light of her loungeroom as bright and as evil as fire.

"So that was for show?" He asked. He didn’t make any effort to wipe away the moisture from his mouth and chin, instead squaring his jaw and raising an eyebrow at Clarke from across the room. "I was wrong, too, maybe my ears _could_ have taken it, your legs kept crushing my head so hard I couldn’t hear anything."

Clarke let out a large, controlled breath, sick of the games he was trying to play with her.

"Come here" she said, her voice breaking.

"No" he said.

"Come. _Here_." she demanded. She pushed her legs together, the pulsing feeling she had there already beginning to wane.

Bellamy stood and walked slowly towards her, his hips level with her face in his own silent challenge.

Clarke bit her top teeth and levelled her eyes to his jeans, before she pulled them down his legs, letting them catch at his thighs and leaving them there. His dick poked out the top of his dark briefs, the material stuck to the outline of it in a way Clarke could only imagine was uncomfortable.

Clarke looked up at him through her lashes, seeing through his cocky demeanour to the desperation that he was feeling in this moment. Clarke pulled the waistband of his underwear back and let it snap against his skin, earning a flinch from him.

"Ow, fuck" he cursed, giving Clarke a second to take him by surprise and pull his briefs down his legs to join his jeans.

His dick slapped up against his stomach, fully hard and unignorable so close to her face as she took the base in his hands and slid it into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head. Bellamy almost fell down as he groaned, putting a hand lightly onto the back of her head. She knew what he liked, just like he remembered what she did, and she tried to show him then. She cupped his balls in her hand and rubbed as she pump the base of his length and worked the rest with my mouth, going slow and fast on intervals as he moaned above her.

"Fuck" he murmured as her tongue slid over the tip. "God Clarke you're so good. You're so good."

Clarke almost stopped to say she knew, but didn’t, because all she wanted suddenly was to make him feel good, to remind him that she did make him feel good, and to remind herself that, too.

The sounds he made turned her on beyond reason, and the ache had returned between her thighs, causing her to rock her hips back and forth against nothing as she quickly pulled his pants all the way off his legs so they were both naked, equally. She took a second to look up at him, bare to her completely, so beautiful and so sexy, completely at her mercy as she was to him.

* * *

 

Clarke looked up at him, naked, and he can't believe he’s here again.

Her eyes were wide as she scanned his body, ghosting over every inch of his legs and torso and chest like a touch, so intimate he felt like he had to shy away.

As she looked at him he thought something that shattered him: I don't know how I'm going to be able to let her go again after this.

Staring at her Bellamy thought of how beautiful her body was to him, of how many nights he’d spent trying to figure out how to please her, trying to discover every small inch of her that responded to him like it never had to anyone else. He thought of the nights they didn't have sex, where she fell asleep across from him and he’d watch her blonde hair rise and fall across her face from her breath, or when she was on her period and she'd pass out with a hot water bottle still wedged under her shirt because her cramps were enough to kill someone that wasn't as strong as she was. Because she was strong girl, always enduring, always optimistic that it would be okay and that she'd get through. Bellamy wanted her beyond physical limits right now. He wanted her everywhere, in every way you could have someone.

And this might’ve been his last chance to do it.

Slowly he pushed her shoulders back, angling her so she lay on the couch, her body fitting perfectly on the soft cushions as she stared up at him openly. He needed her so bad that it killed him, and with his dick throbbing against his stomach and the memory of her mouth wrapped around it fresh in my mind, he tried not to moan again. All the shit about her girlfriend had given him the incentive to prove to her she wouldn’t find someone that could love her like him. There wasn’t anyone out there that knew her that well. He needed to show her.

"Bellamy" she said, her voice small. "Bellamy please."

"I know, Clarke" he said, laying beside her and pushing two fingers in, capturing her lips between his. She kissed him eagerly, her hands on his biceps. Bellamy moved so that he was on top of her, equally distributing his weight to his arms and body, so he didn’t crush her. She looked up at him again with those wide blue eyes, her face flushed and her mouth pleasantly swollen from kissing.

She rested her legs on his waist, her ankles meeting at the small of his back and as Bellamy pulled his fingers out of her he could feel the slickness on his hand and the want to occupy that space again.

He took his length in his hand and lined it up with her entrance, the heat coming off of her enough to make his head spin. Looking directly into her eyes, with the rain pouring down outside and a crack of thunder piercing through the room, he pushed into her.

A laboured breath left his mouth as he went all the way in, staying still for a second and pressing his face to her shoulder, feeling her arms come up to wrap around him.

An experimental thrust earned a quiet moan from her and the confirmation that she felt just as good as his memory told him she did, and that he didn't make up the tightness and the warmth that he felt when he was deep inside of her.

He thrusted again, this time harder and with more purpose, her heels digging into his ass as he did so, her chest pressing up against his as her back arches. He begun to build steadily up into a fast paced rhythm, all the joy in the world coming from the places that their bodies were meeting.

"Bellamy... harder" she gasped, making him sit back and push her leg down and up, so that her knee is bent against her chest, allowing him to go deeper into her and pick up his pace.

Her voice started getting louder, the moans becoming less breathy and more pronounced as he pushed deeper into her, angling his hips so that he could thrust upwards, towards the spot she had that made her come so hard she shook.

She pushed back up against him with her knee and away, making Bellamy groan at the loss of himself inside her, before she spins them around so he‘s on the bottom. She positioned her body above him and sunk down, her eyes squeezed shut and her hands flat on his chest. Bellamy didn’t think he’d ever seen something so undeniably beautiful in his life, and for a moment he was spellbound. Then she started to move.

"Oh my god" he said, unable to help himself.

He placed his hand on her hips, helping her move back and forth as she rocked on top of him, her breasts bouncing with each thrust and her ass moving up and down beneath his fingers obscenely, so sexy that it's almost enough to make him come.

"You feel so good" Clarke says, her eyes closed as she laid flat against his body and moved her hips faster. "God, Bellamy, you feel so so good.”

Bellamy watched her face scrunch up and then relax, hair messy as she moved with everything she had, making him feel amazing.

"I love you" he said, because she had to hear it. Before it was too late. Before it was time to go.

She stopped moving then, and looked Bellamy in the eyes for the first time since they started. Her gaze was level, and she smiled. 

"I love you too, Bellamy" she whispered, leaning down and kissing him.

He pushed his hips up over and over again, watching her come undone above him with moans and I love you's and promises that hadn’t been spoken yet. He followed shortly after, clinging to her body and kissing her so deeply he hoped to lose himself within her, which in a way he already had.

As they lay on her couch, naked, in each others arms, the rain pouring down outside, Bellamy told her that he’d missed her, and she promised out loud to never leave again.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys this was originally written in first person so if u found any mistakes regardin that u now know why lol - thanks for reading!!


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